


For the Money

by Red



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexuality, Canon Disabled Character, Cunnilingus, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Gender or Sex Swap, Porn Battle, Queer Het, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing to be said for ignorant shoppers at the grocery, Charles often thinks, it's that they manage to get Erika <i>this</i> territorial.</p>
<p>Just a bit of straightforward porn for Professor's XMFC/DOFP <a href="http://professorofeljay.dreamwidth.org/2184.html">Porn Battle</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Money

While Charles has had a lifetime (and more than enough casual partners within it, but that’s really rather beside the point) to get used to the words “must be the money” whispered within casual earshot when he’s out with a date, Erika clearly hasn’t. 

Not that she ever will, he thinks. She’s not the sort to let that sort of commentary go, and it isn’t as if she should. 

Not that he’d even want her to, for that matter. Not when her rage and anger transmutes so gloriously, once they left the store and got back home and she’d stormed around the apartment long enough, once she finally headed back to the bedroom and saw Charles already naked, in bed. 

“Well,” he’d said, “as we both know it’s about my stunning looks rather than the inheritance, I thought--” 

“You’re absurd,” she’d grumbled. And while he could still sense her thinking _and a fool, for suffering those assholes_ , it’d been distinctly tempered by an undercurrent of self-castigation, of the thought that _it’s his right, to deal with them however he likes_.

And--better yet--by her yanking off her sweater. 

When they’d first met, Erika had honestly been a touch shy about her body. Or, well. Perhaps it was more likely she’d merely been uncertain about him, given that she’s an ex-wife and her own particular brand of bisexuality is much more “actually a lesbian, and I’m occasionally resentful of you for slipping in under the radar and invalidating my membership card” than anything else, but either way it took some time for her to be comfortable with stripping like this, brazen and careless with the afternoon sun casting over the strong lines of her body. 

“Maybe so,” was all Charles had said, unable to stop admiring her legs, the slope of waist broadening to hip. He’s never entirely able to concentrate in these situations, so it’s a bit of a shock when she snorts and straddles him. 

_You know so_ , she thinks at him, reaching down to adjust his soft cock between them before settling in his lap. 

If there’s one nice thing to be said of ignorant shoppers, he thinks again, it’s this: that Erika gets so wonderfully worked up.

There’s not an awful lot he can sense below his hips, but there is a dim and pleasant sense of pressure. And besides, she’s biting at his lips hungrily, kissing him with a startling and possessive fierceness. She grabs at his wrists, pulling his hands off her arse so she can start scratching her short nails down his inner arms; she pushes against him, her small breasts warm as they press up against his sensitive chest. 

“Oh, god,” he breathes, as she breaks the kiss just to mouth over to his ear, as she sucks the lobe between her lips and flicks her tongue against it with single-minded determination. 

Charles has had an even share of partners, and the most of them were fairly considerate (those too fixated on his ability--or lack thereof--to get an erection were generally the briefest of one-time affairs). But none of them have ever been so thorough a study, so driven to break him down. More and more often, he finds himself shaking through orgasm as she fucks her tongue against his ear or sucks at his neck before he even knows he’s anywhere close.

Today’s no exception. 

She’s gone down on his nipples, lathing them and pressing her teeth against them as they go erect when he feels it wash over him: the sudden rush of heat, blood flushing his face and chest as he comes. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whines, fumbling to get his arms away from her unrelenting hands. “Fuck, oh fuck, Erika, fuck--” 

It’s pretty much all he can say, in between panting for air, and he squirms against her until she lets up on his chest. He tips his head back, trying to catch his breath, feeling the pulse of arousal and smug pleasure in her mind. 

After a moment, he has the strength to look down. He’s covered with bite marks, his chest reddened and shiny with her spit, and Erika’s staring at him with swollen lips and the slightest grin. 

“Fuck,” he repeats, again, laughing breathlessly. 

Reaching for her, he rubs his hands down from her shoulders to her breasts, down her muscled abdomen to her thighs. Her hips thrust briefly against him before she can control herself. 

She licks at her lower lip.

He can tell--he could even without his gift--that she’s thinking of going at his neck again, of biting over his clavicle and marking him where it’ll show on his ears and under his jaw, but he pulls at her. 

“Come on, up here,” he murmurs. “Please.” 

Thankfully, Erika’s always been wonderfully perceptive with this, too. 

She sits up so she’s kneeling astride him, and glances down, inviting him to look. 

Some people, to Charles’s occasional dismay, are so dreadfully certain that giving pleasure can’t possibly be as enjoyable as getting it. 

Between his thighs, his cock is slick and wet. 

“My pleasure,” she says, voice rough, and she reaches out for the metal of the bedframe behind him as she gets unsteadily to her feet. 

Pushing himself up to scoot back to where he’s sitting fully upright, Charles adjusts the pillows, giving Erika a bit more room to position. He loves this when he’s lying flat on his back or when he’s in his chair or however else he can get her grinding against his face, but right now he’s too impatient to move much further than this. 

Erika senses the thought, and laughs as she goes to crouch over him, clutching at the headboard. “If you get a cramp in your neck, it’s your own damn fault,” she insists, before breaking off with a startled huff.

Wrapping his arms behind her thighs, he tugs her down. It _is_ a slightly awkward position, given how long her legs are, but--he rubs the calloused fingertips of his right hand over the parted lips of her cunt, just feeling her arousal, and she nearly falls on him. 

He tilts his head up, groaning as he opens his mouth against her. 

By now, he knows how to fuck her as fast and hard as she likes, too. He thrusts three fingers into her, crooking them as he works them in small circles, hard pressure up against the inner wall. She swears, arching her hips to open herself up further. A few drips of fluid hit against his chin, and he surges to lick around his fingers, to lap over her flesh where it’s drawn tight with the stretch of his hand and against the delicate skin of her inner folds. 

For a few moments, he lets himself tease her into cursing him, sucking hard at thighs or labia, lashing his tongue against the taut skin behind her hole or just barely in front. It doesn’t take terribly much to work her up--the argument at the store was more than enough--and soon enough he has to take pity on her else she’ll strangle him with her thighs. 

“Damn it, Charles,” she hisses, the bed creaking ominously as her powers react to her impatience. “Will you just-- _fuck_ , yeah--” 

At least, he thinks, she’s just as eloquent as he is with this. Sucking against her clit, he flicks the tip of his tongue hard against the top of the hood, swipes gently over the head, keeping that unrelenting spiral of pressure on the hidden glands inside her as she fucks against his face desperately. 

Her pleasure is a an overwhelming, a massive wave of arousal breaking over them both, and he knows exactly when to pull his fingers back, when to press his tongue firm against the swell of her engorged clit. 

_Come on me_ , he sends, insistent and full of his own wild desire. His own brand of bisexuality is much less discerning: men or women, he just loves being marked, being coated in the evidence of his lover’s pleasure, and Erika’s so very obliging. 

_Charles--_ is all she thinks, before he feels the first hot wave of her come. She squirts in a short, forceful pulse of fluid that fills his mouth up, and he moans as he tries to swallow in time for the next, and the next, and the _next_ \--

Well. Erika’s always been _copiously_ obliging. Her come runs hot over his lips, down his chin and over his flushed chest. He pants through his nose, dizzy from lack of air and from her scent. Erika keeps groaning, spurting in those long wonderful contractions she tends to experience when she’s quite worked up, until finally she tugs rudely at his hair to get his mouth off. 

She slumps against him, panting as she holds her weight supported against the headboard. His forehead pressed against the sweaty skin of her abdomen, Charles keeps his arms wrapped tight around her legs, and breathes with her. 

After a moment, she grunts and backs up, awkwardly climbing over him to sit by his side. She gives him a look, then glares at the pillows behind him, at the comforter beneath. 

“Really, Charles,” she says, leaning on him despite her feigned distaste. “You can’t wait for the tarp.” 

“It’s not a _tarp_ , we don’t _camp_ with it,” he complains, grinning. It’s a familiar argument, and one entirely without heat behind it, though he’s often sure Erika is entirely serious about her threat to have custom linens made out of waterproof blankets. 

“We’ll have to buy new pillows,” Erika says, reaching over for a corner of blanket to wipe her thighs, “and a new comforter. Again.”

Charles shrugs, shifting his weight so she’s more comfortable against him. _They aren’t that expensive,_ he dismisses, growing drowsy and too content to talk aloud, and he senses her smirk against his shoulder. 

_It’s a good thing, then,_ she sends, _that I’m with you for the money._


End file.
